


The Naked Ride Home

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, Clothed Sex, F/M, Missing Scene, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Victorian, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen and James take a little longer on the ride back to the Sanctuary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Naked Ride Home

James had no appetite for tea, alarming in and of itself. He merely stared out the window of the carriage, the fingers of his right hand loosely curled in front of his face as he watched the streets of London roll past. He'd been silent throughout their long sea journey from Spain, had barely acknowledged her on the rare occasions they passed each other in the corridors or spotted each other through the fog on-deck. Nikola never even boarded the ship, obviously choosing alternate means to return from whence he came. And Nigel... well, he could very well have shared Helen's berth and she'd have been none the wiser. 

And John...

As if sensing the direction her thoughts had taken, James turned his head to gaze at her. She looked away from him, furious at his doting. He found her on the cliff, the gun hanging from limp fingers like a dead limb. Once she realized he was there she'd fortified herself, squared her shoulders, and handed him the weapon. He took it, smelled the gunpowder still lingering in the air, and looked down at the raging waters below.

"Adam Worth will harass the Crown no longer," she said. She kept her voice steady and unwavering. "We've earned our rewards. This will change everything, James. For all of us."

"At what price?" he wondered.

Helen met his gaze, then gathered her skirts and walked away from him. Now, weeks later, she still believed she had made the correct choice while still replaying the scene in her mind. She still heard the shot echoing through the canyons and she saw Adam tilting backward over the ledge. She had killed a man. He wasn't an evil man, just a very sick man who had been pushed to the very limits. Losing a child... it was no wonder he'd snapped.

But no. No, Adam Worth's mania had been well-documented in the drug fiend's novel, and the seeds of it had been sewn back during their Oxford days. She recalled very little of the formula she'd seen him idly chalking on the brick wall, but the parts she did remember chilled her to the bone. The knowledge he'd actually created the vile concoction and intended to unleash it on an unsuspecting London... She knew that given the opportunity she would pull the trigger again.

But despite the victory, she knew why James remained pensive. Near a decade of recovery, becoming her own woman, forgetting John Druitt, ruined by the man strolling back into their lives. She had almost immediately fallen back into the old routines, ashamed of herself even as she strolled with him across the Thames and allowed him to share her berth. Despite what the other men believed, Helen did not share his bed.

She didn't want to be forced to say the words, didn't want James to need her to. Obviously her romantic feelings for John were in the past, and while her sexual feelings could still betray her, he should know better than to think she would betray what they'd nurtured in the new century. He was the most precious man in her life. Though God knew she hadn't made it easy for him to stand at her side. The sidelong glances from other men of society, the smirks from the inspectors who otherwise depended upon James' brilliance to do their jobs. Sometimes she thought he only frequented the Diogenes Club to get away from the whispers that followed him everywhere. Imagine, a man of his standing at the beck and call of a woman. A woman who shunned society norms, who operated her own business! It was well known that the Sanctuary, as mysterious as its purpose may be, was solely Helen Magnus' enterprise. James Watson was merely a majordomo a willful and scandalous woman who - dear God in His Heaven - had been seen brazenly wearing trousers in public. What sort of man allowed himself to be kept so?

Helen looked back at him, and this time neither of them looked away. The past had been brought back in full force over the past few weeks of their mission. And now, with the Crown honoring their end of the bargain, it was the dawning of a new age for the Sanctuary. No more scrounging for donations, no longer worrying about whether or not they'll be able to make rent, no hiding in the shadows so they won't draw undue attention from the eyes on high. They should be celebrating. As Helen stared into James' dark eyes, she thought of an appropriate way to restore their balance to each other and also honor what was to come.

She leaned toward the window. "Driver. Take the long way through the park, if you please. Dr. Watson and I have need to re-acclimate ourselves to London air."

Despite this, she drew the curtains over the window and cast them into darkness. James straightened in his seat, eyeing her curiously as she planted her feet on the floor and straightened until her body was rigid as a board. She raised the edge of her dress to her knees, exposing the ruffled lace at the edge of her slip as she moved her hands up into the darkness to undo the ties of her petticoats.

"What in the world are you doing?"

"Getting more comfortable, James. We've been traveling for months, and I would like the take the opportunity to relax." His eyes dropped as she pushed the petticoats down and daintily, calmly, lifted her feet out of them. She casually folded the undergarment and placed it on the seat beside her, then rose and swung her hips around to drop down next to the bench beside James.

"I believe I've lost sight of something very important over the past several weeks. Being reunited with John, Nikola, and Nigel in order to hunt down Adam Worth. It was very easy for me to regress to our school days. To hold John's hand seemed natural, even though you were standing right on my other side." She smiled and ducked her head. "I'm an old woman, James, and very set in my ways."

He couldn't help but laugh at that, despite his mood. In the gloomy darkness of the carriage, their eyes met, and James sighed with resignation.

"Perhaps one day I will learn how to stay cross with you."

"Hopefully not any day soon." She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, her hand moving to the lap of his trousers. Her lips slid teasingly across his, pulling away when he tried to follow the kiss to its foregone conclusion. She looked down as he kissed her cheek instead, using two fingers to trace the pinstripes on the lap of his trousers. The bulge underneath grew and she outlined its shape instead, moving her fingers in wide circles until the object of her attention strained against the material.

"Oh, James. I've been neglecting you, haven't I?"

"Understandable. Given recent circumstances." His voice was steady but strained. "But truth be told, I have quite missed you, my dear."

"Is that so, darling?" She squeezed his length again before moving her fingers up to the first button. "You should have ruminated, as I did, on past pleasures." She undid a second button and James pressed his shoulders back against the seat. She brushed her finger over his tight underclothes, teasing the base of the shaft. "I would eat green grapes and thing about the time you fed them to me one at a time. Imagining it was your fingers that I brushed with my tongue. My pillow became your thigh. The banana..." She gripped him again, eliciting a gasp of surprise. "Do you recall what you did to me with the banana? Because I do. Every depraved twist of your wrist... oh, James."

She brought her hand up, and he took the opportunity to release himself fully. She gripped the length of him as she captured his lips for a proper kiss, their first since being summoned to meet with the Prime Minister. The hunger of it reminded her of their first, late at night in the library, air thick with the smell of burning lantern oil and old books. They had long ago discovered their mutual pursuits - the hunt for a killer of prostitutes and a quest to discover just what was occupying her fiancé's evening hours - entwined. After combining their efforts they began spending those dark, dreadful evenings together.

Her tongue slipped into James' mouth as she remembered the shoulder rubs, resting her head on James' lap to rest her weary eyes and waking to him stroking her hair. Letting him escort her back to her rooms, reluctant to part at her door but unable to come up with a convincing reason to make him stay... and then finally, simply grabbing the lapels of his coat and pulling him to her.

"John is not likely to come home tonight. Please, James."

They had carried on their relationship from that night onward. Any guilt they harbored for betraying John vanished when they proved the horrific secret he had been keeping from them. James had been a godsend in those early dark days after John finally vanished for what she'd thought would be the final time. The night she shot him, after spending a wakeful evening with the fine gentlemen of Scotland Yard, she took James to her bed. They slept together, woke together, and Helen closed the book on her relationship with John Druitt.

If only it were that easy.

Thankfully memories of the past were easier to shun, and Helen did so now. John had vanished while they were still in Spain, and now was the time to reclaim what they had worked to build in his absence. Not just their sexual congress, but their working relationship at the Sanctuary. Helen brought her hand to her lips and brushed her fingers over the extended tip of her tongue, wetting it just enough to lubricate before she closed her grip around his cock.

James groaned and rested his hand on her thigh, tensing his fingers before sliding closer to her lap. She angled her hips and sighed as his fingers found her through the layers of cloth, passing her thumb over the tip of his erection to spread the moisture there. The carriage took a turn and pressed Helen against James' side, and they kissed again as their hands explored. James pressed three fingers against her and Helen suddenly knew she could wait no longer.

"James... I simply must." She kissed the corners of his mouth again and leaned back. He moved his hand from her lap to his own, slowly stroking himself as she gathered her skirts up over pale thighs. He gave a weak, tremulous gasp as she sat forward, one knee on the bench, and threw the other leg across his lap.

The driver hollered, "Everything a'right in there?"

"Quite," Helen called back. Her gown was a sea between their bodies, but her hand found a way underneath it. Together she and James guided the tip of his cock to her entrance. Helen gave a breathless laugh of triumph and dropped her hips briefly before lifting back up, effectively giving his penis a quick kiss with her private lips. James closed his eyes and rocked his head back against the seat.

"Damnation, woman..."

He angled his body away from the seat and her knees sank into the crease where the cushions of the bench met. She rested her hands against the wall on either side of his head, flat against the wood, and she rolled her hips forward to sink onto him. Her eyes closed on her vocal cords trembled out a sound unlike any word in the human language. James began to move but she whispered for him to be still, holding their position, his cock fully within her for a long, glorious beat. Their bodies rocked with the motion of the carriage over cobblestones, Helen swaying from her mount, her thigh muscles rigid on either side of his hips. The warmth of her flesh spread to the cold metal braces that ran from his hip frame down to the knee, and when she began to move again they were body temperature, indistinguishable from his natural body.

If ever he began to move, she made him stop. Soon it became apparent that she wished to be completely in charge. James was more than willing to oblige. He put his hands on her hips to keep her steady through the carriage's rolls and sways. Helen rose and fell on him, taking him fully into her before she withdrew until only the tip remained inside.

"Tell me what you remember, James," she said, her voice deceptively calm if a bit breathless.

He looked up at her and seemed to try trading her shock for shock. "I remember nothing but your cunt, my dear. The wetness of it, the strength of it around my prick..."

Helen groaned and rolled her head back on her shoulders. "Bloody good, Dr. Watson."

"Thank you, Dr. Magnus."

"Now fuck me, good sir."

He moved one hand to the small of her back, using the other to grip the sidewall of the carriage and haul himself up. Their hips remained locked as he stood and deposited her roughly on the bench opposite. Helen kept her knees bent on either side of him, lifting one foot into the air as he pulled back and then used his weight to sink down on her again. She raised her arm over her head, hand against the wall, and closed her eyes as James thrust into her.

She kept her eyes open and watched his face, her free hand tightly gripping the lapel of his jacket as she was moved with the motion of his hips. He met her eyes and slowed down, gasping as he held his position over her. Helen moved her hand from the side of the carriage, released the other's grip on his lapel, and cupped his face with them. She drew his face to hers and kissed him. She pulled away from him as he lifted his hips, his cock just barely resting at her entrance for an agonizing moment before they came together again.

James cried out, and Helen felt him throb in climax. She guided his head to her shoulder and held him as he filled her, massaging his cock with her muscles, milking him for the lubrication as he continued to thrust weakly into her. He turned his head and kissed her neck, sucked her earlobe into his mouth and gently bit down as she squirmed beneath him. He withdrew, and Helen dragged her hand down to steal his pocket handkerchief. She unfolded it as James lifted himself off of her, and she breathed the scent of the napkin before reaching under her dress with it. James remained perched over her as she cleaned up the evidence of his orgasm, watching intently as she focused her ministrations on her clit until she came with a series of increasingly-desperate gasps and then a blissful exhale of air through her nose.

"It's marvelous watching you finish, my dear."

Helen smiled, her face flush and her eyes closed with the afterglow of her pleasure. "Thank you, darling." She offered him her hand and he sat up, pulling her with him. He picked up the petticoats that had been knocked to the floor in their passion. He lifted Helen's left foot, then the right, and she gathered her skirts and rose off the bench so he could put them on for her. She stroked his hair as a thank-you, then raised her voice to tell the driver they were ready to head for home.

James tucked himself back into his trousers, the soiled handkerchief balled in his fist as he shifted back to the bench he'd started out on. He and Helen sat across from each other again, their skin a bit clammier and their breath coming a bit harsher. The smell in the carriage left little doubt as to what had transpired. Helen smiled, her hands folded politely on her lap, and James couldn't stop himself from laughing at her.

"Will we be all right, James?"

"Always, love."

She swallowed and nodded once. "I don't know that I can ever give you my whole heart."

"I don't expect it, nor would I ever ask for it. Helen, my distance during our recent excursion was due to... complications. We were taxed enough hunting Adam Worth, we didn't need anything else dividing our resources. It's the very reason you chose to bed with John rather than rebuff his advances. And don't argue, even if you didn't realize that was your intention, that is precisely what you were doing."

"Great bloody detective," Helen muttered.

James chose to ignore the jab. "John Druitt will always be the ghost haunting our halls, Helen. All we can hope for is banishing him for brief, albeit very enjoyable, interludes."

Helen smiled as the carriage slowed to a stop outside the Sanctuary. She gathered her bag, scooted to the edge of the bench, and waited for the footman to open the door. James helped her out, and they stood together in front of the home Helen's father had built. The sun was setting at the far end of the Thames and made the windows shine like panes of gold.

"It's good to be home," James said.

Helen threaded her arm around his elbow. "It truly is. Now... let us get back to our work."

James nodded his chin and, as always, let Helen lead the way.


End file.
